


POEMS 



BY 



PEARL EYTINGE, 

Author of " TWO WOMEN," A Drama in Four Acts, 
Etc., Etc. 



NEW YORK: 

A. S. Seer's Print, Union Square and 17th Street. 
1888. 



POEMS 



^Y 



pearl'eytinge, 

Author of "TWO WOMEN," A Drama in Four Acts, 
Etc., Etc. 




NEW YORK: 

A. S. Seer's Print, Union Square and 17th Street. 
1«88. 



T* ]''J 



£ 



•? 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, by 

PEARL EYTINGE 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 



POEMS 

By PEARL EY TINGE. 



THE FLOWER'S FATE 

A little child, with sunny hair and eyes, 

Came dancing down the path with merry feet, 

Naught seeing but the silver tinted skies, 
Nor caring save the robin's song to greet. 

A tiny pansy by the roadside grew, 

And blossomed sweetly in the noon-day sun ; 

It gloried not in shining crown of dew, 
And only lived to love the little one. 

Oh, hapless fate ! the careless step brings grief ; 

The fragile, pure-eyed flower lies still in death ; 
It never more will stir a velvet leaf. 

Or sweet the dainty zephyr with its breath. 

The roses bow their heads in bitter woe ; 

The stately lily drops a pitying tear : 
The grasses, waving sadly to and fro, 

Send weeping whispers far and near. 

Ah ! so it is throughout the whole wide earth ; 

The faithless happy one meets all with jest, 
And passing gaily by in joyous mirth, 

Unheeding, breaks the heart that loves it best. 



COMPENSATION. 

Although we lose, yet still we gain 

If losing be not through a sin ; 
Between the shadow and the pain 

A little sunlight will creep in. 

God taketh all that seemeth best 

From out our lives, from out our hearts ; 

But in return we find the rest 
Which purity or faith imparts. 

If in the busy work of life 

Man sinks amid the noisy din, 
One gentle touch of child or wife 

Brings back again the strength to win. 

The helpless maiden lying there, 

Who never more will pluck sweet flowers, 

Or revel in the morning air, 

Forgetting all but love's swift hours, 

Is winding laces 'bout her hands, 

And singing low a tender song, 
She wonders if the unknown lands 

Will ope their golden gates ere long. 

And even I, for whom there seems 
No joy of light from stars or sun, 

Can lift my soul away from dreams 

In whispered prayer, — "Thy will be done !' 



SOMEBODY. 

Somebody thinks the world all wrong, 

And never has a word in its praise ; 
Somebody sings the whole day long, 

Likes the world and all its ways ; 
Somebody says it's a queer old place. 

Where none of the people do as they should ; 
Somebody thinks it full of grace. 

And wouldn't change the folks if he could. 
Somebody thinks it cruel and cold, 

Full of sin and sorrow and pain, 
Where life is but a search for gold, 

And souls are lost in selfish gain. 
Somebody merrily laughs and cries 

" Hurrah for such a dear old earth ! 
Success shall crown the man that tries 

To make his mark by honest worth." 
Somebody groans and shakes his head, 

Calls his lot a wretched one ; 
Somebody wishes that he were dead, 

For somebody else has all the fun. 
Biit somehow I notice you generally find. 

In good or evil, pain or care, 
To one thing sure you may make up your mind, 

Somebody always gets his share. 



LOVE'S TELEGRAM. 

With doubting heart the maiden stood, 
And leaning 'gainst the casement wide, 

Believed her absent lover would 
Grow cold, and seek another bride. 

For many weary days had passed. 
She waited with a patience true, 

Till hope had given up at last, 
And faith her constancy did rue. 

When all at once a little bird 

Perched lightly on the shining wire. 

As though her vain regret were heard. 
And sang as if he'd never tire. 

In all the stillness of the dawn. 

That fills a city ere it wakes. 
There comes one moment 'fore the morn, 

When song of birds the silence breaks. 

A message bringing of new day. 
Of light and life, of faith and truth. 

Of lovers who are far away, 

Of earnest vows and golden youth. 

A knock ! " Come in," the maiden said ; 

And, quickly lifting up the latch, 
A lad approached with hurried tread, 

And handed her a brief dispatch. 

" Will soon be home." The simple words 
Brought joy and hope and glad content, 



And louder, sweeter sang the birds, 
Rejoicing in the message sent. 

" Will soon be home," they gayly trilled ; 

"Will soon be home," her heart replied ; 
And all the summer air was filled 

With welcome for the bonnie bride. 



A SILENT HOUSE. 

How oft I stilled the noisy chatter, 

How often hushed the childish patter, 

And wished that song and play would cease, 
And prayed for just one moment's peace ! 
The broken toys I cast aside, 
With angry word a fault would chide ; 

But now that great Eternity 

Doth separate my child from me. 
I walk about from room to room, 
And shudder when the gathering gloom 

Brings silence and a dull despair, 

And memories of golden hair, 
And rosy lips and laughing eyes. 
With all the joy that in them lies ; 

And when I kneel at close of day, 

I clasp my hands and humbly pray — 
" Oh, God ! that I may be forgiven, 
And meet my little child in Heaven ! " 



SEVEN LONG YEARS BELOVED. 

Seven long years beloved, 

Yet we are parted at last ; 
Bitter words on either side, 

Never a thought for the past. 

My tears fall fast, beloved^ 

When I think of the years gone by, 
How hand in hand we wandered 

Through the path in the field of rye. 

Bright dreams we had, beloved ; 

We were willing to work and wait ; 
Alas, for vague repining ; 

Our sorrowing comes too late. 

And you are gone, beloved ; 

Forever gone out of my life ; 
I am left with grief alone, 

To battle 'gainst sin and strife. 

So runs the world, beloved ; 

Prayers and repentance are vain ; 
We'll never stand by the silver stream. 

Or walk through the waving grain. 

Seven long years, beloved. 

Yet we are parted at last ; 
Fjitter words on either side. 

Never a thought for the past. 



IN THE SUNLIGHT. 

The golden rays of morning 

Touched the silver of his hair, 
And crowned with sudden glory 

A life made dull with care. 
There came across his pathway 

A woman with a song, 
It was so full of gladness. 

So pure and passion strong, 
That his soul woke .into living, 

And his heart began to long 
For the words that filled the music, 

The music of her song. 

Well, she sang of hope and honor, 

Of patience and of truth, 
Till, time forgot, he walked within 

The sunlight of his youth. 
And all the shining present 

Dimmed the darkness of the past. 
For golden hair makes stronger ties 

Than fire can ever cast. 



TWO PRINCES. 

A noble prince goes riding by 
With lordly mien and flashing eye, 

While I sit here at my cottage door 

Wishing my daily task was o'er. 

The tears fall fast and dim my sight, 
I feel my life has not been bright. 

Why should I have a weary lot, 

And be by all the world forgot ? 

I lift my head as the prince rides past, 
My face grows red, my heart beats fast : 
The gallant courtier nears the stile. 
Leaps from his horse to rest awhile. 

He turns toward me with questioning look, 
And haughty smile I cannot brook, 
Then lifting his hat with courtly air 
Murmurs some words 'bout the weather fair. 

But what he utters I scarce have heard, 
For, just like song of forest bird. 

Comes baby's voice, so pure and clear. 

Sweetest sound to mother's ear. 

Bonnie boy, whose bright blue eyes 

Look at me so wondrous wise, 

With brow so fair and pure and bold, 
Crowned with curls of sunny gold, — 

He is the royal prince of my heart. 

Of which the stranger has no part. 

So let him ride on in the morning sun, 
While I sit here till my work is done. 



THE SONG OF THE TRAMP. 

{Dedicated to Annie B artel, the Female Pedestrian.) 

With head bent wearily down, 

With footsteps heavy as lead, 
A woman walked in a tinsel gown, 

Bedecked with ribbons of red. 
Walk, walk, walk ! 

With dull, monotonous stamp. 
And still with step that none could balk 

She sang the song of the tramp. 

Walk, walk, walk ! 

While the wheel is turning aloof ; 
And bang, crash, bang. 

The music raises the roof. 
'Tis oh ! to be a slave. 

And work at a cobbler's trade, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

And heels are fairly made. 

Walk, walk, walk ! 

My labor never flags. 

And what are it's wages ? A sawdust track, 

A careless nurse, — and wags ; 
This wooden room, that steamer chair, 
And a bed so rough that sometimes it's tough,- 

I sometimes must lie there. 

Oh ! but to breathe the breath 

Of the gently lowing kine, 
As they wander near the brook. 

By the trailing ivy vine ; 



For only one short hour 

To sit on a three-legged stool, 

And draw the snowy liquid foam, 
At twilight pure and cool ! 

Oh, men, with sisters dear! 

Oh, men, with better halves ; 
It is not leather you're wearing out. 

But human creatures' calves ! 
Walk, walk, walk ! 

Boldly without a fear ; 
Moving along with a double tread, 

And a foot that is somewhat queer. 

But why do I talk of feet, 

Those phantoms of grisly bone ! 
I do not care for their terrible shape 

If the boys would let 'em alone ! — 
If the boys would let 'em alone, 

And think of the laps I make, 
I'd do my best for quickest time, 

And surely win dat cake. 

Oh ! but for one short hour, 

A respite, however slight ! 
No blessed leisure for sleep or dress, 

Not even a moment at night ! 
A little eating would ease me some. 

But in its china plate 
My meal must stay, for food, they say. 

My power would abate. 



With head bent wearily down, 

And footsteps heavy as lead, 
A woman walked in a tinsel gown, 

Bedecked with ribbons of red. 
Walk, walk, walk ! 

With dull monotonous stamp, 
And still with step that none could balk 

She sang this song of the tramp. 



A KISS. 

One kiss, my darling, only one ! 

And all the rest of the world may go ; 
What does it matter when all is done ? 

Wont you believe when I tell you so ? 

Wont you trust me with one caress ? 

It is so little, and yet so much ! 
Send my soul to forgetfulness 

Under the spell of your passionate touch 

Press your lips just once to mine ! 

Hold me close to you, dearest heart ! 
I will place my hand in thine, 

Teach you love and its wonderful art. 

Ah ! do not let me plead in vain ! 

Surely it will not come amiss ! 
Dear^ thou shalt have it back again, 

A thousand times,— for just one kiss ! 



THE CALL-BOYS DREAM. 

' All up for the last act, 

Vivien discovered ; 
I'm mighty tired, that's a fact ! " 

In the wing he hovered, 
Looking 'round with anxious face. 

"' Everybody in his place? 
Yes, she's waiting for the cue ; 

Now, I've nothin' more to do. 

' How the fourlh one seems to drag ! 

It's everlastin' creepy. 
Why don't Philip spout the tag? 

I am so dreadful sleepy. 
These Christmas plays is awful slow, 

I don't get nothin' by 'em, 
The leadin'-man he's all the show. 

The rest — they onV guy 'em." 

Musing thus, he fell asleep, 

And dreamed that he was starring ; 
His agents failed the dates to meet. 

His fame completely marring. 
And then it really was a shame. 

In spite of "ad." and poster 
The critics made it all their aim 

To serve him up a "roaster." 

His lines were hard, his lady-lead 

Was haughty and conceited ; 
On every point they disagreed, 

And he retired defeated. 
The lad awoke, the dream was past : 

" This starring isn't all joy," 
He wisely said. " Make out yer cast, 

An' put me down as call-boy y 



LENT, 

Now nears the day for fast and prayer, 
For saintly sighs among the fair, 
For vague regret at chances lost. 
For dresses ruined at papa's cost. 

Whirl and glitter and wine and song 
Will erstwhile cease amid the throng; 
Music, dance and riotous rhym.e, 
Must all be hushed in Lenton time. 

Tiie youth who sent expensive flowers, 
Looks sadly back upon those hours ; 
In gentle Spring without a dime. 
His watch, for cash, is lent on time. 



A WISH. 

So thou art dead ! 

Killed by scorning ; 
Born with the roses red, 

One bright morning ; 
Only a lover's thought, 

No one blaming, 
Pity and sorrow taught. 

His the shaming. 

Thou might have made his life 

Glad with living, 
Stilled all this soulless strife, — 

Blest, — forgiving. 
He would not have it so, 

Fearful and passion-tossed ; 
One day we both shall know 

All that a wish has cost. 



MONARCHY. 

Wee he is, and willful too, 

With a bonny bright blue eye, 
And a crown of golden curls 

E'en the sunbeams cannot vie ; 
And, with royal mandate, he 

Rules his house, and all his court 
Humbly bow to his decree, 

Heart and hand and word and thought. 

Does he deign to lift his voice ? 

Silence reigns, that all may hear — 
Pearls and rubies from his lips 

Would not count as half so dear. 
Will he have the crimson rose, 

Bathed in beauty's purest blushes? 
To the tree whereon it grows 

Straight each willing vassal rushes. 

All the robins sing their best 

Should he chance to pass their way, 
Smooth their plumage, raise their heads, 

Trill a merry loundelay ; 
And, at night, the angel Sleep 

Comes, with Dreamland in her train, 
While the stars a vigil keep 

Till the morning breaks again. 



A SECRET. 

Shall I tell you why 1 speak so low 
And tenderly? and bow my head 

In prayer ? 
Why I am moved to anger slow ? 
And answer not when idle words are said ? 

Or care ? 

Do you wonder that my song is stilled ? 
And feeling rarely finds it's way 

In v/ord ? 
Do you marvel why mine eyes are filled 
With tears, — my voice no longer gay 

Is heard ? 

Then come a little closer to me, dear, 
And I will tell you, if a promise true 

You give,— 
I would not have the world to hear, — 
That, since the moment of my loving you, 

I live. 



A CURTAIN CALL. 

I thank you, friends, if I may call you so, 

For all your welcome greetings here to-night ; 

Each kindly hand hath set my heart aglow, 

Each smile hath shown me that the world is bright. 

It is with striving that my art shall gain 

A hold upon your sympathetic heart ; 
This mimic life is not portrayed in vain 

If earnest action prove the perfect part. 



He was not there ! Ah ! God in pity pray 
Hush all this noisy clamor — send me rest ! 

I want no praises — care not what they say, — 
I would but lay my head upon his breast. 

Ah ! Fame is ever passionless and cold, 
And shining, starlike, seems so far above, 

It chills my soul like unto death bells tolled. 
For all is lost to me without his love ! 



M^^/ 

>^->' 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 







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